Andrew readily asked Father Lee to be his radio program guest and explain the merchant sailor’s plight to thousands of listeners. On the air Andrew found Father Ben to be both articulate and bright. He exuded uncommon compassion and dedication to his work helping merchant seamen far from their homes and loved ones.
As it turned out, the solution to the problem was relatively simple; and the flaws of inept bureaucrats, would be pointed out throughout Western Washington in embarrassingly succinct terms by Andrew Kincaid.
Three days following the broadcast, the sailor was dispatched to his ship and things were back to normal at the Seamen’s Center with the exception that now Father Ben had a new friend who would take each need the Center might have as a personal challenge.
✽✽✽
The Seamen’s Center became a haven for Andrew when he wanted to ditch the rest of the world for a cup of not very good coffee, but excellent conversation and a chess game with Father Ben. The out of the way Center provided respite from his often punishing schedule. Over a period of more than two years and many cups of bad coffee, the journalist and the priest, became friends and confidants. Occasionally Andrew accompanied Father Ben on his visits to some of the ships when at times Ben conducted services for the crews.
✽✽✽
Three volunteers regularly helped out at the Center each week. Sister Ruth Myers, a fiftyish member of the Episcopal Order of Saint Helena, kept the books for the center. Sister Ruth was five foot three inches tall and round. She dressed in a blue and white habit with a modified wimple that mostly covered her curly, iron gray hair. Her blue eyes were full of mischief and twinkled at a good joke, but those same sparkling eyes would snap and turn dark if anything jeopardized her work for she was deadly serious about her devotion to Father Ben and the Seamen’s Center.
Sixty five year old Byron Curtis, a retired banker, worked closely with Ruth on planning and managing the funding. A few inches taller than Father Lee, Byron was thin and round shouldered; he slightly resembled an ancient monk with a fringe of white hair circling a shiny pate. Nearly any day he could be found at the Center bent over his yellow pad of figures with arrows going this way and that on the page. Byron too, was fiercely dedicated to the Center and Father Ben Lee whom he had come to love and respect during his time there.
Davey Collins was the third and much appreciated member of the Seamen’s Center volunteer team. Davey was twenty three, had a slight developmental disability, but was able to assist in answering the telephones, stocking supplies and generally keeping the Center tidied up. He had a ready smile for all the visitors who came in and his sparkling brown eyes warmly greeted everyone making them feel welcome. He was Father Lee’s number one fan and would do anything he was asked if it was within his ability to do.
✽✽✽
Father Ben noticed that the newcomer had finished writing letters and was no where in sight. Hoping to talk with him again before Andrew arrived, Ben looked around the nearly empty room “What happened to the man who was writing the letters over there?” he asked nodding toward the table where the man had been sitting. Davey was at the desk; he shrugged and said. “I don’t know, Father Ben, he left. Maybe to mail his letters,” he offered.
“Did he say anything?” Father Ben queried. “Wait!” Suddenly his attention was drawn to a commotion and shouts from outside the Center. Running out he and Davey saw the stranger struggling with two unknown men. The men had pinned the stranger in a recess in the wall of the building. One was attempting to immobilize him while the other wielded a knife striking the man again and again.
Ben shouted at them, “Let him go!” as he rushed to interdict the assault.
When the attackers saw Father Ben and Davey behind him, the man with the knife made one final slash before releasing the stranger. Escaping before Ben or Davey could see their faces they ran across the street into the shadows of the Alaskan Way Viaduct and were gone.
The stranger was hunched in a half sitting position on the sidewalk. It was clear he had been badly injured and as Father Ben knelt beside him he could see dark stains oozing their way to the surface of the man’s shirt. He had been stabbed several times. He was bleeding from a deep cut on his face and one hand had been slashed as he had tried to defend himself against the onslaught.
Davey ran back into the building and dialed 9-1-1. Ben tried to comfort the stranger who was attempting to speak. Davey grabbed a pillow from an old chair and hurried out, offering it to Father Ben who placed it behind the man’s head. “The ambulance is on the way,” Davey told him.
The wind and rain had stopped briefly for which Ben gave a silent thanksgiving. He laid a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder saying, “Save your strength–help is coming. Do you know who did this?”
The man shook his head adamantly, grabbing Ben’s hand. “Never mind” he choked, “It doesn’t matter.” He pushed a rumpled letter and a small oilskin packet into Ben’s hand saying, “Please get this letter to Mrs. Thayer...package to Kincaid,” he gasped. “I...I must talk to Andrew Kincaid. Please,” his voice trailing off.
Ben patted his shoulder and nodded saying,” Don’t excite yourself, please try to stay calm...I will go with you to the hospital. Don’t worry I will take care of everything.”
The police had arrived and an officer was standing by as the medics worked to stabilize the victim, Ben looked at the now blood smeared package and the letter in his hand and realized that he must let Andrew know what had occurred. One of the officers had drawn Davey aside and was questioning him. Ben pocketed the items and moved to intervene for Davey.
“Excuse me officer, I am Father Ben Lee from the Center. I promised that I would accompany the man to the hospital and I will need Davey inside the Center while I am away. Could I answer your questions at the hospital?” Turning toward his young volunteer he said, “Davey, come with me.” Leading a slightly crestfallen Davey, he quickly stepped back into the Center where he telephoned leaving a message for Andrew to meet him in Emergency at Harborview Hospital as soon as possible.
Addressing Davey in a gentle tone he said, “Davey, I know that you were giving the officer important information and I apologize for taking you away like that, but you see I need to have you close the Center and lock it for me tonight; Sister Ruth and Byron will not be back from their meeting. Can you do that?”
Davey couldn’t believe his ears. Father Ben was asking him to be responsible to lock up the Center. Davey nodded “yes” and threw his arms around Father Ben in an appreciative hug.
✽✽✽
8:30PM
Sitting alone in a corner of the waiting area at the hospital, Father Ben quietly prayed and mulled over the events of the day. His thoughts were scattered. What connection could this man possibly have with Charlene Thayer? Is it the same person he knew through the Church and Center? Of course it is—it has to be, but how? What and how does this man know about Andrew?
Ben’s thoughts were sharply interrupted by Andrew.
“Ben, you scared the hell out of me! I thought something had happened to you. Who’s here?”
“Andrew,” Ben announced calmly, “The man I talked to you about was set upon and stabbed this evening right outside the Center. Davey and I frightened the attackers off, but not before they had hurt him badly.”
Before Andrew could respond, a young man in a green hospital scrub suit motioned for Ben to follow him. “The patient wants to see you, Father. You may be inclined to give last rites; I don’t think he’s going to make it. By the way, did they get the guys that did it?”
Ben shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, “but downtown it happens, and many are not caught.” He stood up and moved to follow the doctor paused and turning to Andrew, standing with his hands in his pockets, “You come too. He was asking to see you.”
Andrew’s eyebrows went up. “Me? Why, Ben? How did he get my name?”
Ben shrugged while wondering the same thing and waved Andrew to silence. As they approached the
bedside they could hear irregular, strained breathing. Ben bent over and gently touched the man’s arm saying, “This is Father Lee from the Seamen’s Center, and I have Andrew Kincaid here with me. Can you hear me?”
The man looked into Andrew’s face, “Kincaid?” he rasped.
“Yes,” responded Andrew, “why did you want to see me?”
“They tried to kill me...”
Andrew interrupted, attempting to reassure him saying, “No one is going to kill you, we’ll see that you’re protected.”
The man’s anxiety level was rising, “Kincaid... the packet, don’t open it—don’t open!”
Andrew looked confused, the man continued, “I’ve got to tell you,” he coughed and struggled to speak, “listen to me, I’ve got to tell you...letters, I sent letters to keep you safe. Kincaid, don’t give packet to police. Don’t ...” then, “Father,” the man spoke weakly while trying to raise his bandaged hand toward Father Ben.
“Shh,” Ben tried to calm him, “Friend, what is your name? Is there someone I can call? Do you have family I should notify?” The man reached into his depths for strength to reply, “Letters will tell. Kelshaw, George Kelshaw is my name,” he gasped, “CIA, work for... no one left to tell... no one left to te...”his voice faded and it was over.
Andrew bowed his head as Father Ben prayed and anointed the body of George Kelshaw. Andrew’s mind was racing with questions not the least of which was why Kelshaw had asked for him. What was this packet he was so worried about? And the CIA? “Do I even want to know?” he wondered. Time had run out for George Kelshaw before he could explain.
A Seattle police officer stood by the desk waiting as Ben concluded business with the hospital then stepped forward asking Father Ben about the stabbing and what connection he had with the dead man. What was his name? Did he come in on a merchant ship?
Ben reported on his and Davey’s rescue of the man from his assailants and gave the man’s name and yes, he had come with a group of seamen from a ship that had docked a day or two ago. Andrew was amazed at how little information Ben had regarding the man but how much less he shared with the police.
Claiming weariness, Ben said, “Officer, please forgive me, it has been a very long day and I still must return to the Center. I will be there tomorrow if you should have more questions. Right now I seem to be out of answers. “Come, Andrew, give me a ride back to the Center, please. I realize I came with the ambulance.” Out of earshot of the policeman Ben continued, “Besides, I am sure you would like to know what else I know—not much. Oh, I almost forgot, here,” Ben laid the oilskin packet and letter in Andrew’s hand, “Mr. Kelshaw wanted me to give this to you, and Andrew will you see that this letter gets to Mrs. Thayer?” Father Ben was glad he could say George Kelshaw’s name.
As Andrew and Ben walked out of the hospital into the dark night air, Andrew looked at Ben with dismay. “Why don’t you give her the letter, Ben? I don’t know her!”
“Because,” Ben ventured, “you are better at explaining things...all that has happened...and...”
“What are you talking about, Father Lee?” Andrew used Ben’s surname when he wanted to make a strong point. “You’re the only one who really knows what happened,” Andrew exclaimed. He was tired and slightly irked. Finally, yielding slightly he said softly, “Okay, Ben, what’s going on?” he tried to say it calmly.
“Well, Andrew,” Ben paused, sighing heavily, “I would just rather you gave Mrs. Thayer the letter,” adding, “I do not really have a good reason.”
Andrew was silent for a moment; “All right, I’ll do it, I don’t know how, but I’ll do it,” Andrew agreed surrendering to Ben’s plea, adding, “now I know why they call you Chinese inscrutable.”
“Hmmn,” Ben said. Andrew smiled slightly to himself.
It was after midnight, the end of a very long day. As they left the hospital, the men were so deep in conversation they did not notice two men watching them from the shadows.
✽✽✽
12:15 AM
The drive to the Center was brief. Neither man spoke until Andrew broke the silence. “Ben, do you mind if I ask a question?”
“Of course not, what do you want to know?” Ben replied.
Andrew was cautious. “You know I’m Catholic so my question comes from that perspective, and I didn’t think, well, what I mean to say is... doesn’t it bother you to anoint and give last rites—to a guy who might not even believe in God?”
Ben studied a moment before answering, “Andrew, years ago when I became a minister for the Lord, I promised God I would do everything I could do for His Kingdom on this side of life. Loving, consoling and caring for His people is all that I know how to do. A little comfort, a kind word and a touch is sometimes all it takes to draw a person into the Kingdom. It didn’t cost me anything to anoint that poor soul, Andrew. The rest is up to God.”
“Thanks, Ben,” Andrew said softly, “I appreciate your answer.” He was thinking how glad he was to have Ben as a friend.
✽✽✽
He left Father Ben at the Center, but instead of going home Andrew went back to the Times. Sleep was out of the question. The ordinarily noisy city room was devoid of clacking typewriters and the hustle of midday. Here and there two or three desk lamps glowed in the semidarkness giving evidence of reporters working late on some special story.
Wide awake, sitting at his desk he looked at the stained envelope and studied the oilskin packet. “Why me?” he said to himself. “What did Kelshaw say?” “Don’t open it and don’t give it to the police. What could be in it?” he mused. Touching it and turning it over he toyed with the idea of finding out what it contained.
Questions flew through Andrew’s mind. This guy was CIA, an agent, a ‘spook’. Was he knifed on purpose or was it just a random robbery.
Andrew knew the answer. Of course it was on purpose, someone was trying to kill him; but who, and why at the Center? Was Ben safe? Suddenly very weary, Andrew locked the letter and the packet in his desk drawer, turned off his desk lamp and decided the questions could wait for the next day’s mail.
✽✽✽
Alone at the Center, Ben was also wide awake. He went through the motions of straightening his desk and checking the lock on the rear door all the while thinking of George Kelshaw. As he prepared to leave, he stopped by the table where the man had been writing letters earlier. Wondering half out loud, “Why did he come to the Center? What was his connection with Mrs. Thayer?”
Father Ben was aware that many people knew that he ran the Center on a shoestring. Charlene Thayer, as a key member of the Episcopal Diocese Budget Committee, was one of those people. It was said throughout the Diocese that Father Ben could stretch money farther than many of the other more handsomely endowed ministries. Mrs. Thayer and others who staunchly supported the Center also knew that much of Ben’s own resources were spent helping the sailors with their needs often providing basic items such as a pair of socks or a toothbrush.
Much of her work was raising support through the churches in the diocese speaking about Father Lee’s work and gathering some of those basic items to be given out at the Center. An avid spokesperson on behalf of the Seamen’s Center, she worked long and hard to keep funds coming in; “But surely,” he thought, “her work for the Center could have nothing to do with George Kelshaw.”
Thinking of the events leading to his death, Ben realized that George Kelshaw was a man on the run. Who knew how far he had come or from who and what he was running.
As he stood in the semi darkness of the Center, Ben was transported back to the small Chinese village of Yencheng and the night he and his mother were caught in a raid on a prayer meeting in a House Church.
A small Christian enclave composed of a few families would gather in a different house each week to pray and study Scripture. There were only three Bibles among the thirty or so members and these were kept hidden until the day or night of a meeting. The books had been acquired through missionaries who h
ad either fled or had been arrested and imprisoned.
Joseph Lee, his wife Soo Ling and their son Kim, had befriended Ben’s mother, Luci Han and her two children, Ben and his younger brother Chan. Kim Lee and Ben were nearly the same age and had become close friends immediately.
The Lee and Han families lived in an old protestant mission compound that held several houses, a one-time school and a building that had once been a hospital and infirmary. A common area courtyard graced in the center by a gnarled and twisted elm tree provided a playground for Kim and Ben. They spent many hours climbing and swinging on its limbs trying to out-climb each other.
Joseph Lee well trained in Chinese herbal medicines, had been an assistant to missionary doctor Charles Graves. Joseph had learned much of western medicine working almost daily in the infirmary. Dr. Graves had stayed in Yencheng until the Communist threat became so great that the mission board ordered him out of China.
Joseph remained and continued to treat illnesses and injuries of the villagers under the scrutiny of the provincial Communist government. It was represented in Yencheng by a small military contingent of the new Peoples Liberation Army (PLA) in which Ben’s father, Jiang Han served.
Unbeknownst to Jiang Han, his wife and oldest son, Ben, were among those in and around Yencheng that continued to meet and pray in the forbidden House Churches.
From the shadows Ben heard the echo of the fury of his father’s voice, “I will never use my military rank to save you from prison again! If you do this another time,” he shouted as he struck Ben’s mother again and again, “the children will be taken away and you will go to prison or be killed. Do you understand me?” he screamed striking one more emphatic blow.
While Rome Was Sleeping Page 7
